


burning our pretty little hearts

by icarusinflight, tomlinshawexchange_mod



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Meetings, Hand Jobs, M/M, Meet-Ugly, Soulmates, alternative universe - not canon, extensive use of 'northern lad' for which i am very sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusinflight/pseuds/icarusinflight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomlinshawexchange_mod/pseuds/tomlinshawexchange_mod
Summary: Nick's twenty-nine, and still not the least bit ready for it, when he finds his soulmate.
Relationships: Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 105
Collections: The Tomlinshaw Fic Exchange 2019





	burning our pretty little hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Writcraft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/gifts).



> Dear Writcraft!!
> 
> When I got your sign up I was absolutely delighted!! There was so much there to work with and i absolutely loved it. I hope this fills some of your wants, and you enjoy it as much as I have come to.
> 
> Thank you for being a delight, and for your wonderful addition to the tomlinshaw fandom!!
> 
> Happy Louis' birthday!
> 
> Title from _heart beats slow_ by Angus and Julia Stone. Does it relate to this fic? Maybe not. But I listened to it when I was writing this, and it worked for me <3

Nick's twenty-nine and still not the least bit ready for it when he finds his soulmate.

He's at a party, and there are fucking _teenagers_ around. Teenagers. He feels like he should take their drinks off them, give them an orange juice and a cheese sarnie. _Christ,_ people were taking pills before, he's pretty sure the person on his right is smoking a joint right fucking _now—_ is that illegal? Well, it’s definitely illegal, but probably more illegal than the usual amount. Misleading a minor, or something. He's never felt the need to be the mum friend before, but then he's never been surrounded by actual fucking _children_ before.

“Oi, you tosser,” the fucking _child_ beside him says. Nick can't remember his name. He was definitely told it and he's usually pretty good with names, but he’s a fair bit drunk and a little bit stoned, and the name is just not coming to him. He remembers the introduction, remembers being excited by the combination of finding someone with an accent thicker than his, and his piercing blue eyes that Nick thinks he could drown in. He can remember the exact moment of the introduction. The way his eyes did a slow once over, knows he wasn’t even the least bit subtle about it—can remember all of that. The events are clear in his brain, but the name still escapes him. It’s all too much for Nick's already alcohol-soaked brain. He's only human after all. “Maybe I should be taking _your_ drink then, Grandpa. It's a bit late, is it past your bedtime? Don’t old folks get grumpy if they stay up too late after tea?”

It's only then Nick realises he might have been speaking out loud. He might also be proper sloshed.

“Oi!” Nick says, but there's only sloshing in his brain where it usually makes the words. It has been a while since his tea, and he is actually a bit hungry. And a bit sleepy. Fuck this Northern Lad.

“Do your parents even know you're at a party? Did you have to get your permission slip signed?"”

Northern Lad flushes a pretty colour. It starts on his cheeks, and bleeds down his neck. Nick can even see a blush of red poking out from the loose neck of his tee. Nick probably shouldn't be looking. He can't stop looking. The world is spinning a bit but Northern Lad is the only thing staying still. It’s easier than it should be to let everything fade out until the only thing in focus is Northern Lad.

“Me mum knows where I'm at,” he says, and it sounds like a challenge, like he wants Nick to kick off about it.

“Awww,” Nick says, but there’s no bite to it. It's a bit endearing if he’s honest—though he’s not sure it should be. He couldn’t imagine Eileen knowing where he is and what he’s doing. He’d rather not think about it, wouldn’t tell her, and even if she asked he’d give her the abridged version, _yes I’m having fun Mum, just hanging out with friends and staying safe._ Probably she knows there’s a lot he’s leaving out, but it’s not like he’s the first one, Andy and Jane have already walked these roads before him.

He’s still a fucking child though.

“Oi. I’m twenty-one.”

Such a fucking child.

Nick’s still riding the high, and it seems like a good idea when he drops his hand to ruffle Northern Lads hair. He dodges, but his movements are slow, lethargic, and Nick’s hand makes contact, feels soft hair, a hint of product and—

It’s like there’s an explosion in his brain, his chest, his stomach, his whole fucking body like there’s actual fireworks going off inside him. It feels like when you put Fairy Floss in your mouth and it melts away, but leaves your mouth filled with sweetness. It feels nothing like they talked about in health class, nothing could have ever prepared him for this—and yet it’s instantly recognisable what it is.

It feels like warmth, like a pull. Feels better than any drug Nick’s taken—and he’s taken his fair share.

Northern Lad hisses, and ducks his head away.

Nick’s hand twitches after him—he doesn’t think to chase Northern Lad, but he _wants_. He isn’t sure if it’s his own desires, instincts, or something deeper that makes him do it, but Northern Lad ducks away again, and it breaks the spell.

It’s like someone just dumped a bucket of ice over his head.

“Fuck.” Nick’s head is spinning, his stomach is churning, he might actually vomit—he can’t remember the last time he vomited at a party and he certainly doesn’t want to do it now. He swallows, breathes in, out, tries to get everything under control—definitely fails, but his stomach settles a little more.

_This can’t be happening._

“What the fuck?” Northern Lad asks. “Why would you do that?”

“Why would _I_ do that?” Nick asks, a little incredulously. “I didn’t fucking do anything. It was you with your...your mouth and your fucking hair being fucking...” Nick doesn’t know what. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, but his heart is racing and Northern Lad is looking at him, and it feels like the walls are closing in on him, and he’s never good at confrontations— _what the fuck?_

“My hair?” Northern Lad says, and Nick winces, opens his mouth to take it back, apologise, or _something,_ but Northern Lad beats him to it.

“That’s a bit fucking rich. Coming from you. Have you looked in a fucking mirror lately?”

Nick’s head is spinning, and he wasn’t ready for this, not even close. He was just coming out for a drink and now he’s face to face with his fucking _soulmate._ There should be some sort of warning for this, or a snooze button he can hit. Give him another five minutes or maybe three years and then check again if he’s feeling ready to deal with this.

They always say you can feel your soulmates feelings, but Nick can’t feel anything over his own feelings—fuck, can barely feel anything over his own panic.

He should have brought his puffer. _Fuck._

Northern Lad is still watching him. It’s not fucking helping.

_This can’t be happening._

“Look.” Nick feels like he can barely think over the pounding of blood in his veins, his heartbeat, and the breaths that are coming too fast, but feel like they still aren’t getting him any fucking _air._ “Maybe it isn’t what it seems like?”

Northern Lad face is one of the most expressive faces he’s ever seen, he sees a number of expressions flick across his face—many of which he misses, but he doesn’t miss the _anger_. Northern Lad is fucking livid. If Nick is a volcano of panicked pressure inside of him, Northern Lad is like a thunderstorm—probably a hurricane bearing down on Nick and there’s no shelter in sight. It even manages to get through Nick’s duel Panic and Asthma attack, the hot fury feeling almost like the sharp heat when you touch a hot oven. He wants to pull away—he does pull back, a little. It doesn’t do anything to dull the feeling.

“Fuck you,” Northern Lad spits. He scrambles back, legs kicking out, and it takes Nick a moment to realise he’s trying to stand up. “Fuck you. Who would want to be with you with your stupid hair and your big fucking mouth anyway?”

“Fuck you.” It’s not the sharpest response, but he’s had a bit of a shock. Maybe he’s _in_ shock. Maybe that will kill him, if his fucking _lungs_ don’t give up the ghost first. Why are they so fucking useless—breathing is only one of the most essential things to keep him alive. Even on his limited supply of oxygen he still has enough energy to be indignant about Northern Lad dismissing him. “I’m a fucking _catch._ ”

Nick’s not sure why he says it, only that Northern Lad is making him feel a bit—or maybe a lot—shit. Nick’s unprepared for it, can’t seem to get a handle on all of this to try and de-escalate it like he usually would with a joke—usually at his own expense

“Sure you are.” Northern Lad finally gets his legs out from underneath himself. He walks backwards from Nick, like Nick’s a wild fucking animal. “Everyone I know is looking for Tall, Dark and Wanker.”

“Better than short and nasty,” Nick calls, but Northern Lad is already hightailing it out of there, and Nick isn’t sure if he hears the words.

It doesn’t make him feel any less guilty for saying them.

* * *

Nick makes a solid attempt to ignore the events of the party. He thinks about it as _the event,_ and he makes his very best effort to push it aside, forget it even happened. It would be easier if it weren’t for the feelings inside him, the emotions that feel so different to his own.

He just. Wasn't ready is all. And maybe he would have gotten there. But he just wasn't ready. Soulmates are forever, are for life, and that's a big ask when Nick still can't choose a wall colour. He covers his walls in posters instead, ones that he changes out almost as often as shifts through fashions.

And now he's made a mess of it all.

There’s a pulling in his gut, and Nick knows he’s meant to follow it—doesn’t know how he knows, he just does.

He tries his best to ignore it.

It continues for a fortnight, the strange feeling of another’s emotions pulling underneath his skin. It’s unsettling, and he’s not coping well. He doesn’t need the questions asking _are you alright Grimmy?_ and _Late night out?_ to tell him he’s not handling it.

It’s obvious he’s not dealing with it well—and that he can’t ignore.

But the alternative means caving to the pull, following it through till he finds Northern Lad—and Northern Lad has made it pretty clear how he feels about that.

Not that Nick feels differently. He’s old enough that he probably shouldn’t be panicking this much. He’s approaching thirty, and he’s got friends who are settling down with their soulmates and having babies already.

It’s just that this is kind of a big deal. Soulmates are big, and most people spend their lives waiting for them, looking for them, even if there’s no sure way to find them. There might have been a time when Nick looked forward to it, but he’s grown up since then. He hadn’t expected to meet his soulmate now, and it’s not so much that he doesn’t want it, but he’s come to terms with not having it. He’s perfectly happy with the casual hook-ups that have defined his adult life, he’s been happy with others still unmatched like him, or mismatched. Not everyone gets a match, and not every match works out. He’s twenty-nine, and there are tales of people meeting their soulmates later in life, but most of his friends have met theirs, and he’d kind of come to terms with the fact that maybe it wasn’t going to happen for him. He’d kind of come to terms with being soulmate free—it wasn’t bothering him, except late at night when he can’t sleep and the voice in his head says _you’ll never find your match_ , and _you’re going to be alone forever._

If he’s honest—he kind of preferred that to the thought of ending up mismatch—easier to say ‘nothing to see here mate’ than ‘it didn’t work out’.

And maybe there’s some irony in the fact that it looks like that might be exactly what’s happening to him now. If destiny is a thing—then maybe Nick’s destiny is to be continually fucked over by the universe.

Because now he’s found his match.

And he’s still alone.

And he doesn’t know how to feel about that.

* * *

Nick knows Northern Lad is at the party well before he sees him. He knows as he walks up to the door, knows as he rings the bell, knows when he gets let in, with a yell and a hug, and a wet and sloppy kiss on the cheek from the party host.

He knows because he can feel it. _It_ being more like the absence of something, like a ringing in your ears that you only realise was there when you can’t hear it anymore. The fuzzing is gone all of a sudden, and it’s like the world is his to hear, in sharp clarity.

The other thing he notices is that the feelings become stronger. Northern Lad is happy, really happy. He’s become used to the feeling of Northern Lad’s emotions alongside his own. It’s like the voice in his head that says _eat that slice of cake left in the tearoom_ , only it’s whispering things like _anger, sadness, joy._

Right now, it’s whispering something like _joy_ something, like _anticipation._ Nick wonders if Northern Lad has realised Nick’s here yet.

He could leave the party, there are other parties he knows about tonight, other bars he could go to if he doesn’t feel like going to those. But he’s here now, and Nick feels almost teenager-like indignant at being put out by this fucking _thing_ inside him. It’s annoying enough that he’s got these feelings, that he has this pull. As if this isn’t already enough of a fucking _inconvenience,_ and now it’s ruining a good night out for him.

Fuck that.

What he does, instead, is proceed to try and get absolutely wankered.

He sees flashes of Northern Lad through the party. A flash of light brown hair—or maybe _mousy brown, dirty dish-water blonde_ he thinks, a bit nastily.

He feels when Northern Lad realises he’s at the party. Feels the anger make his body run hot, and Nick does his best to ignore it, pours himself another drink, downs it, then another. The alcohol dulls the connection a little, but it also muddles it, makes it harder to pick out what’s Northern Lad’s or what’s his own. He feels _delight_ just as he notices Northern Lad dancing in the middle of the room, and Nick can’t help but take a moment to stop and watch him, getting caught up in the moment a little. He looks good up there, like he’s having fun, and Nick’s not a fucking saint, he also takes the opportunity to check Northern Lad out a bit. He’s hot, which he’d noticed before, but he really takes the moment to savour it, taking in the wave of his arms, the sinuous rolling of his hips—and very importantly, his arse. Nick can appreciate a good arse—and that’s one. He definitely wouldn’t mind checking out further, but Northern Lad jerks to a stop, head whipping around, and Nick beats a hasty exit from the room.

He’s more careful to stay out of the other lad’s way after that. It’s working just fine, until Nick walks out of the loo to find Northern Lad leaning against the wall in the hallway.

“What are you doing here?” Northern Lad asks, and Nick bristles at the words, at the tone which makes it very clear he thinks Nick _shouldn’t_ be here.

“I got invited, I came along. Same as you, I expect.”

This close, the pull between them is even stronger. His cunning plan to dull the link between them with alcohol doesn’t seem to work as well when they’re standing less than a meter away from each other. Nick wants to close the distance, he wants to see if Northern Lad’s lips are as kissable as they look, wants to feel that lovely arse under his hands. He wants to do all the things to him, and that’s not unusual, Nick’s good at finding people he wants usually, but resisting isn’t his strong point. He doesn’t practice this skill often; it doesn’t come easy to him.

He clenches his hands, shoves them deep into his pockets. Hopes that will be enough to keep him from doing anything stupid (or stupid _er_ ).

“I don’t want you here,” Northern Lad says, which is fairly obvious, but then he moves towards Nick.

Nick takes a step back, then another, trying to brace himself for whatever’s coming. He’s half expecting Northern Lad to punch him, and Nick’s no good at that. He avoided fights at school by generally just avoiding _everyone_ as much as he could, and trying to be fairly unremarkable when he couldn’t. The closest he’s been to a fight is outside the clubs in Manchester, when two lads fighting stumbled into him, and Nick’s outstanding move was to run up the street, didn’t stop till he reached Nando’s. His friends took the piss out of him relentlessly for it.

His back hits the wall, and Northern Lad keeps moving forward, crowds into his space. This close Nick can see the flecks of blue in his eyes, when he bares his teeth at Nick, Nick can see a chip on a tooth.

Northern Lads hands come up to grab at his arms, holding him there against the wall. Nick’s got height on him, could probably push Northern Lad off him and move away—hell Northern Lad’s eyes have that look in them that suggest that would be enough to leave him reeling, but the thought is fleeting, and Nick knows he’s not going to do it.

It’s the first time they’ve touched since _the event_ , since that moment when Nick had stretched out his hand, and his whole world had shifted.

“I just want you out of my head.”

“The feelings mutual, darling,” Nick says. It’s true, but he also doesn’t want him to move, doesn’t want to break this moment.

Nick catches a flash of something in his eyes, feels a corresponding twitch that sends heat running through his body—can’t tell who it originates with, and then Northern Lad’s lips are on his.

It shouldn't be a good kiss, too hard and too much teeth, but somehow it is. It’s a kiss that lights Nick up from the inside, sets his heart racing, his blood pumping, all in one direction.

Northern Lad presses in closer, aligning their bodies. There’s nothing tender about the way he does it, no gentle slotting of their bodies together, instead more like a high velocity crash. Northern Lad’s hands on his arms are so tight, holding Nick tight in a way that could be mistaken for wanting to keep him close, if it were anyone else, if this was anything else.

Nick tries not to think about that, focuses instead on getting a hold on Northern Lad too, hands sliding down to get a grip on that arse, pulling him in closer. He can grind better like this, gives him back some of the control that he felt had been slipping away. His eyes are closed, and the way Northern Lad moans into his mouth is almost enough to have Nick forget that this isn’t just another drunken hook-up.

It might be easier if he couldn’t feel the hot anger still running underneath his skin, both his own and not.

Northern Lad breaks the kiss first, but they’re both panting when they pull away.

Nick knows he shouldn’t, knows there are about a hundred reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this, complications and commitment issues being just the beginning of it, but Nick wants all the same.

And for all the anger he can feel between them, Nick can see the hunger in Northern Lad’s eyes that says he wants it too.

Northern Lad’s hand dig tighter into his arm, and he’s dragging Nick along, opening a door and slipping them both inside before closing it behind them. It has to be someone’s bedroom, but Northern Lad doesn’t seem to care, and Nick can’t bring himself to care either. Northern Lad doesn’t bother with the lights, only pushes Nick towards the bed. There’s sparse light coming in from the streets, but his eyes still seem bright in the dark, pinning Nick with his gaze as he shoves him back until his legs hit the bed and he goes down to sit on the edge of the bed.

It’s almost like desire.

“Fuck,” he says, as Northern Lad pushes his legs out roughly and drops to his knees between them.

He makes short work of Nick’s belt but has a slightly harder time with Nick’s jeans. Nick tries to help and instead probably gets in the way. Their hands fumble together but eventually it’s enough, and when Northern Lad’s hands get around Nick’s cock, he groans, arms going out behind to catch him on the mattress as his head drops backwards too.

“Look at me,” Northern Lad says, and Nick opens his eyes bringing Northern Lad back into focus, watching as he opens his mouth, holds onto his cock almost too tight, and then moves forward to take Nick’s cock into his mouth.

When his eyes threaten to close the hand squeezes tighter, a sharp flash of pain. It’s not that Nick doesn’t like a little bit of pain sometimes, but this isn’t that. It’s a little too sharp, none of the tenderness Nick would usually expect that goes hand-in-hand with it. Northern Lad is trying to make a point, and there’s no ignoring the way he does it. It’s not too dark to miss the look in Northern Lad’s eyes, or the way his hand tightens a little as Nick’s gaze drifts, breaking the eye contact.

Northern Lad knows what he’s doing—and he’s good at it, taking Nick down, and pulling out all the tricks. He moans around Nick and takes him down until Nick can feel the tight muscles at the back of his throat. Nick wants to put his hand in Northern Lad’s hair, twist the locks into his fingers, hold his head and just thrust up into it. He brings his hand down to cup his jaw instead, thumb rubbing at the edge of Northern Lad’s lips where he’s sucking him down so pretty.

It’s probably edging on tender, and Northern Lad makes a tiny noise, eyes fluttering for a moment. When they flicker open again, Nick thinks they almost look softer. Real or not, it’s enough to have Nick hurtling towards his own orgasm.

“I’m going to come,” he gasps out, hand gripping a little tighter. Northern Lad pulls back a little, hand stroking over him. He opens his mouth to let Nick see his cock sitting on his tongue, and it’s that which pushes Nick over the edge, thrusting into it and coming into Northern Lad’s mouth with a broken off moan.

Nick feels him pull off, feels the chill of cold air against his cock. He opens his eyes just in time to see the bob of Northern Lad’s throat, and his cock gives a valiant twitch that the knowledge of what he’s just done.

He’s still just sitting there, so pretty between Nick’s legs, and Nick could get used to this, he thinks. He wouldn’t mind watching Northern Lad at his feet for a bit longer. Unbidden, an image of watching Northern Lad get himself off between Nick’s feet flicks into his mind—and that, that’s nice, but now that he’s thought about his cock, Nick wants to feel it in his hands.

He buries his hand into Northern Lads shoulder, tugging him until he gets the point and comes with. Nick shoots his arse back on the bed, pulling Northern Lad onto his lap.

Northern Lad’s jeans are even tighter than his own—which Nick had known, but it’s frustrating to have to deal with, groaning as his fingers struggle to push them out of the way. It’s made more difficult by the way his legs are open over Nick’s hips,but eventually persistence wins out, getting them open enough and pushing his pants down under his dick so Nick can get his hand around it.

Northern Lad makes the prettiest noises as Nick works on getting him off. He drops his forehead to Nick’s shoulder, gasping open mouthed against the skin there, and Nick basks in the sound of them. He loves this part, loves getting someone off, loves even more when he can tell how much they’re enjoying it. Nick doesn’t fuck around, hand wrapping tight around Northern Lad’s cock, and stroking him, twisting a bit on the upstroke the way he likes it, squeezing the base a little. His other hand Nick slips into the back of those tight jeans, as far down as he can reach and squeezes tight, tight enough to leave bruises. maybe. It’s so much hotter feeling skin on skin, and Northern Lad thrusts up in his hand, groans loudly right beneath Nick’s ear, and then comes all over Nick’s hand and shirt.

Nick eases off the pressure, but continues to stroke him until he’s finished. His head feels silent for once, helped by the booze and the high from the orgasm still coursing through his veins. He wraps his arms tight around the Northern Lad instead, pulls him close until their bodies are pressed together. With Northern Lad tight in Nick’s arms, he lets himself fall back to lay down on the bed, legs still dangling off the edge. It’s not comfortable, but it’s a little comforting, and Nick’s always loved the feeling of having someone in his arms. He’s tired, and a little drunk. The boy in his arms doesn’t pull away, relaxes in Nick’s arms, and he just wants a chance to savour this. He'll just close his eyes a moment.

They can talk after.

The last thing he realises before he drifts off to sleep is that the place where the bond usually is in his mind is finally peaceful.

* * *

Nick wakes to the sound of a door closing.

And alone.

He can’t feel anything except his own anger as he puts himself back together, doing up his jeans and making a valiant—if not entirely fruitful—attempt to smooth down his hair. He has to leave the party in his come stained shirt. The only consolation is Northern Lad would've had to, too. There’s no way he escaped the way they slept together without it.

It’s not much of a comfort.

* * *

After _the second event_ , the feelings are harder to ignore. Nick lasts just over a week before he gives in to it, lets the feelings guide him until he comes to a park, there are kids playing football on the grass, but Nick walks to the side-lines, drops down beside a boy in grey trackies, with his white socks pulled up over the bottoms of them. He doesn’t look up at Nick, and Nick doesn’t look at him either. He casts his gaze out over at the game playing out in front of him, pretends he’s watching like he has any idea what’s going on.

Nick still doesn’t know what to do with these feelings, but he knows he can’t keep ignoring them.

“It’s not nice to leave after sex you know,” Nick says. “It can give a person a complex. Make them think they were shit, or they snore or something.”

The boy snorts beside him.

“You did snore,” Northern Lad points out.

“Still. It’s not nice to leave without at least a word. A note would have been appreciated.”

“Didn’t think you would have wanted to see me there. You made it pretty clear you didn’t want me as your soulmate.”

It wasn’t _you,_ Nick wants to say. It wasn’t personal, but Nick can imagine that won’t make much of a difference, really. He also remembers Northern Lad being less than excited too—but he’s not sure now is the time to point that out.

“I might have panicked a bit. It’s not every day you find your soulmate.” Nick sighs, picks at the strands of grass. He’s probably getting grass stains on his jeans. He thinks he can feel the itching on his skin already. “It was a bit of a shock is all.”

“Bit of a shock for me, too.”

“It’s just… I’ve never really been one for relationships. Not had much luck with them.”

The silence stretches out, and Nick wants to turn to look at him, but he doesn’t think that would help anything. Still, his patience isn’t unlimited, and he’s just about to turn to look at the Northern Lad when he speaks.

“I’m great at relationships. Great at fucking them up, too,” he says. “I race in too quick. I was with a girl and I thought she was it for me. I thought she was my soulmate then. They tell you what it feels like, but like...before you feel it, you don’t know, right? I was thinking about her all the time, always wanted to be with her, and I was just...all in. All the time. And then she broke it off.”

“I’m sorry,” Nick says, more out of formality than anything else. He doesn’t know what else to say. It’s a bit strange to be sitting listening to his soulmate speak about someone they were with before him.

“I know now she wasn’t it, but like, I still loved her. And it still hurts, you know. Even if they’re not your mate. Nobody talks about that and it still hurts when it ends. People say ‘oh well, at least it wasn’t your mate,’ but I still loved her.”

Nick can't imagine mistaking this for anything else, but then he's never been in love before. He's been in relationships before, but he never thought they were in _love_. He’s loved the relationship, but not the person.

He does turn to look at Nick then, and Nick turns to look back at him.

“It still hurts when the person you want doesn’t want you back.”

And that—Nick knows that feeling, knows what it feels like when you want the other person, when you feel more into it then the other person, want more than them. It’s part of why he stopped trying—can’t get left out in the dark if you don’t try. Can’t be the one left wanting if you don’t allow yourself to want it in the first place.

“I wasn’t ready for my soulmate,” Nick says again. “But then I met you, and well...I want to get to know you.”

Northern Lad doesn’t look away—but he’s watching Nick, he’s hearing him out—and he’s not leaving, doesn’t look annoyed, doesn’t _feel_ annoyed.

If Nick had to put a name on it, he’d say he feels like he’s curious.

“I’m Nick,” he says, holding out his hand, like it’s the first time they’ve met. He feels like a bit of a dickhead for it. “I’d like to get to know you. If you’ll give me the time.”

“I’m Louis.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
